Page 151 of The Exit Strategy

“Oh. Yes.” One of Natalie’s associates smiles at her. “It’s one of our most celebrated pieces. Natalie outdid herself with the design.”

That’s when Natalie registers Junie’s spite, and she attempts to excuse herself from her colleagues.

“Ms. Moore, I’m curious about the acoustic design.” Junie’s battle-ready tone doesn’t match the serene smile on her face.

My world is about to implode, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it without causing a bigger scene.

Beside me, Hudson’s thumbs move across his phone with frightening speed.

Meanwhile, Natalie’s smile holds. She obviously thinks I’ve either warned Junie or assumed Junie knows what’s at stake. Both are my fault.

Sweat gathers on my forehead, and I scan our surroundings, hoping to find a distraction big enough to pull Junie’s focus from her latest discovery.

“The building is designed to produce tones as the wind moves through the central corridor,” Junie says. “Different tones depending on the time of year. I was hoping you could tell me how you achieved that.”

Silence.

A very pointed, lethal silence.

The men Natalie had been speaking to turn, interested in an answer they didn’t know existed because she built the damn thing facing the wrong direction.

“It was ah—a collaborative process,” Natalie says after a beat.

“I’m sure it was,” Junie placates. “I’d love to hear about the specifics. Are the tonal intervals a function of the spacing, the corridor width, or both? I’ve been reading about acoustic architecture, and I just find it sodangfascinating.”

Natalie blinks. Her eyes flick past Junie to find mine.

Natalie finally understands that the woman on my arm is no longer the teenager she knew, but a woman with a built-in arsenal locked on one single target.

The three men wait while Hudson’s irritated energy pulses between us.

“Cole,” Natalie says lightly. “You were consulting on the acoustic calculations. Since you’re here to showcase your owninspiredwork, perhaps you can fill us in? I’d hate to misremember the details.”

There it is.

The gentlest possible handoff. A request for a rescue framed as a compliment.

If I refuse, Natalie spins it as me being difficult—the person here to win tonight’s prize money.

If I answer, Junie watches me protect Natalie in front of her for the last time in our lives.

“We have to go,” Hudson says.

The ballroom closes in on me.

Every beat I have planned for this evening disintegrates.

“It’s a combination,” I hear myself say. The explanation leaves my lips on autopilot, and Junie does not move.

She doesn’t breathe.

She watches as I become irredeemable.

And it’s not the fire I’ve always loved in Junie’s eyes now. It’s the absence of it. The specific stillness of Juniper Mercer retreating to the place she goes to when things end.

“Thank you, Natalie,” Junie says, her voice perfectly level. Then she turns on her heel and, with more grace than Natalie has ever possessed, walks out of the ballroom.

Hudson curses in my ear as we hurry to follow. He gets a step ahead when someone grabs hold of my elbow.